


let's rewrite an ending that fits

by livmoores



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Background Ashe/Petra, Background Dimitri/Byleth, Background Mercedes/Dedue, Coping, F/M, Five Stages of Grief, Sort of happy ending, background felix/annette, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:07:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25197454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livmoores/pseuds/livmoores
Summary: The five stages of grief were not Ingrid or Sylvain's strong suits.
Relationships: Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 48
Kudos: 28





	1. denial

**Author's Note:**

> *joins a sylvgrid discord*  
> me: hey who wants angst?????? i got u
> 
> why do i do this to myself honestly i don't know. it was supposed to be a one-shot but look i guess i can't write those say sike rn ash
> 
> shout out to my angel emi for helping me with the summary and honestly.... making this from a oneshot to a five chaptered story.
> 
> trigger warning: mentions of death.

The apartment was too quiet for Sylvain’s liking.

He was used to a permanent buzzing, usually coming from the television he flickered on after getting home. If the television wasn’t on, it was music. The only time it was silent was when he was asleep and even then, it required a podcast to help lull him into restful sleep. Even after Ingrid had moved in, his habits never changed. It got easier to adapt to silence but that didn’t mean he enjoyed it. He did it for Ingrid. Ingrid, who was so insistent on sleeping in silence that he put his phone under his pillow to listen to his podcast. The Christmas gift she had gotten him of a pillow with a speaker in it was the best gift he had ever received. 

With no music, no television, not even the sound of cars driving by, it left him on edge. He rubbed his index finger and thumb together, a nervous habit he had developed as a child. It acted as a proxy for touch. It worked well enough. Ingrid’s touch was better.

“Come on, let me turn on the television and we can talk.”

Ingrid said nothing. She held the newspaper tightly in her hands, the tears streaming down her cheeks, and stood in place. Sylvain flickered on the television and turned his attention back to his girlfriend, who was still crying.

“Ingrid. _Please.”_

The blonde said nothing and threw the newspaper on the ground. Sylvain knew that she wasn’t angry; she was upset. It was the second time he had seen her cry and it was like twisting a knife in his heart. He reached out to grab her but she slipped away before he could catch her.

“Fuck,” Ingrid muttered as she darted towards the bedroom, Sylvain following right behind.

He watched her, unsure of what to say, as she grabbed the suitcase and started throwing clothes into it. He was sure he was going to be sick; this wasn’t what he wanted. He couldn’t step closer to her. What was he supposed to do, force her to stay? No. If Ingrid wanted to leave then she would leave. Sylvain couldn’t force her to do a damn thing.

It was one of the many traits he loved about her.

“I don’t understand why you’re packing your suitcase. We can sit down. We can talk.”

She was throwing in clothes with such fury that Sylvain knew she was trying to be quick. The longer she stayed in the apartment, the worse she would feel.

“You fucking _bastard_.”

There was no malice in her words. She was broken, tired, and he knew her head was hurting based off the way her brows furrowed together. Her fury had broken when she had grabbed one of his shirts. There was nothing special to the shirt; it was a black sweatshirt that had the blue lions team logo on it from college. With the way Ingrid reacted and gripped onto the shirt like her life depending on it, Sylvain would have thought it was an engagement ring.

“Sweetheart, _please_.”

Ingrid took a deep breath into the fabric, took a moment to recollected herself, and continued throwing her personal items into the suitcase.

Sylvain reached out, against his better judgement, and placed a hand on her shoulder. Ingrid shivered and shrugged off his touch. Reading the room, he sighed, took a step back, and ran a hand through his hair. When did his relationship get so complicated? Just the other day he was discussing buying a wedding ring and asking Dimitri where he had gotten his for Byleth.

“You asshole.”

Her voice was soft, still void of anger, as she zipped the suitcase, grabbed the handle and pulled it off the bed. She was already on her heels and making her way out of the bedroom when she stopped, her eyes fixated on the bedside table.

It was a photo of the two of them. It was her favourite; Sylvain hated it. It was a cheesy photo of them at the annual Faerghus fair, a huge smile on Ingrid’s face as she held a giant turkey leg in her hands, and Sylvain had his arms wrapped around her waist and he was pressing a kiss to her forehead. It was a candid photo, one that Ashe had captured two years ago, right after they started dating.

Ingrid grabbed the photo and stared at it. She wasn’t crying anymore; she was full on sobbing. Her hands traced along Sylvain’s frozen frame.

“Ingrid…”

His words were useless.

Ingrid’s fingers continued to trace along the frame of his face for a few more seconds. Suddenly, although Sylvain knew it was to be expected, she threw the photo to the wall. The glass shattered against the wall and echoed throughout the room. Ingrid was already digging a knife into his heart; now she was twisting it.

“Fucking _asshole._ ”

“I’m right here!”

Ingrid didn’t respond. She stared at the broken glass and frame for another minute and turned her attention back to the suitcase. The inside of it was a messed, haphazardly filled and he knew she was missing clothing. He let out a sigh of relief knowing that she would be back simply based off that fact alone. The tension in his shoulders relaxed as he looked at his girlfriend.

Before Sylvain got the chance to speak, Ingrid grabbed the suitcase again and made her way to their front door. Staying silent was better at this point. She wasn’t responding to his pleas and knew that he would be wasting his breath. When Ingrid was angry, it was better to let her be angry and talk to her when she had calmed down. It would be a few hours at the most.

He watched her as her hand lingered on the doorknob. She turned her head over her shoulder, her beautiful blonde hair cascading over her shoulder, and looked back at the apartment. Her eyes were puffy and red from the crying.

It was a sight Sylvain hated. He especially hated knowing that _he_ was the reason she was crying. He shuffled his feet against the carpet and looked down at the ground. It took every ounce of willpower not to fall to his knees and beg for her to stay.

With a sigh, Ingrid turned her attention to the door, opened it quickly, and slammed it shut. Sylvain heard the faint click of the door locking and his stomach dropped.

 _Just a few hours. That’s all it will be_ was the mantra Sylvain kept telling himself. He wasn't sure he believed it.

* * *

Four days had passed before he heard the familiar click of the door being unlocked.

“Sothis, babe, what took you so long?” Sylvain jumped up from his spot on the couch, the remote tumbling to the floor.

He couldn’t contain his excitement to see Ingrid. He noticed how empty and silent their apartment was without her. The television could only provide so much sound. The redhead had found himself looking up at the door with every odd sound, always expecting her to step through. By the second night, he was sleeping on the couch waiting for her return.

Ingrid said nothing in response. She was biting her lip so hard that she was drawing blood. The blonde stepped to the side and let her companion step in.

“Byleth! Are you here to beat me up? That’s not fair. I didn’t do anything!”

It was a desperate attempt to bring a laugh out of the duo. He was met with silence. Sylvain was anxious as he stared at the two. He had really fucked up to deserve a silent treatment from the two of them. Granted, there was the fact that Byleth was always stoic and he wasn’t sure how Dimitri understood her. He expected something from Ingrid. Four days was a long time for her to not speak her mind, _especially_ with Sylvain.

“Are you going to be okay? Dimitri said he’ll join us in about an hour. Ashe and Dedue will come after work. Felix is, well, you know,” Byleth said as she shut the door behind her and locked it. “If you can’t do this today, we can come back another day.”

Ingrid sighed and ran a hand through her hair. Was she going to be okay? That was the million-dollar question and she was sick of hearing it. She kicked off her shoes, Byleth following suit, and assessed the apartment.

“I’m used to the cold shoulder treatment but this is just harsh!”

Ingrid dug her hands into her jeans pocket. She was doing her best not to crawl onto the floor and curl up in the fetal position. She took a deep breath and tried to ignore the taste of copper in her mouth. The task of cleaning out the apartment was daunting and flared up her anxiety.

“Does this get any easier?”

Byleth stared at a spot in the kitchen. “Does what get any easier?” She was sure she knew what Ingrid was asking but didn’t want to jump to conclusions. Her friend was already in a fragile state.

“Get any easier? Ingrid, come on. What the hell are you on about? What did I do?” Sylvain asked desperately. He barely recognized his own voice.

“Knowing the one you love is dead?”

The blue haired woman shook her head and made her way into the kitchen. “No. And I only lost my father, I can’t imagine losing Dimitri like you lost Sylvain. You’re a stronger person than I am.”

Sylvain blinked as he stared at the two women before slumping down into the couch.

 _Oh_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sylvain was dead the entire time trying to talk to ingrid it's fine im fine.
> 
> inspired by the music video to "someday" by nickelback.


	2. anger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [the crow and the butterfly](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1B89Osfj8dg) by shinedown is what got me through this chapter so you should listen to it thx
> 
> trigger warning for gun violence, murder, gunshot wounds and child abuse.

Once he had realized he could leave their apartment, he hadn’t left Ingrid’s side. They had developed a routine after their friends had packed up the apartment. Ingrid would wake up to her alarm, do her best to pull herself together, shower, go to work (which was a struggle in of itself, because he knew she hated how everyone looked at her with pity in their eyes) and come back to the spare bedroom in Dimitri and Byleth’s house to decompress, put on a happy face, and try to throw herself into whatever activity her friends suggested.

He was glad she was with Dimitri and Byleth. They both had their respective loses and they could mourn together. They also wouldn’t pry and be supportive of what Ingrid needed. Felix would have been too much; he would have slipped back into his depression and anger quicker than the others. He would shut them out, as he was already doing, but Byleth would gently coax Ingrid out of her room for food and company. When she was ready to hide away from the world, Byleth would let her go with no questions asked and no pity in her eyes. Dimitri would text her later and said if she needed anything to let him know and that would be the end of her socializing for the night.

Once she was alone in her room, she would check her phone, put on a television show for background noise and try and fall asleep. It never worked the way Ingrid wanted it to. She cried herself to sleep seven out of the eight nights Sylvain had been lying in the bed beside her. On the eighth night, she had fallen asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow and he was thankful.

Day nine was the funereal, which led him to his current position: standing next to Ingrid, his hands in his pockets, a permanent frown on his face as he assessed her.

_“Black really isn’t your colour, babe.”_

Sylvain hated everything about the way Ingrid looked in her black dress. She was still beautiful, yes, but he hated it. He hated how it made her frown. He hated how the tears were threatening to spill out of her eyes. He _hated_ that she was wearing it because of him, all because he was a dumbass who had to get shot.

He wasn’t sure why he was speaking to her. She couldn’t hear him. Perhaps it was therapeutic, perhaps he was a masochist. It was probably the later.

Everyone had gone home an hour or so ago. Ingrid was the only one left, although he was certain Felix was sitting in the car waiting to drive her home. She was standing next to his headstone, a scowl on her face. She was clutching the rose bouquet (white roses, no less, which almost made Sylvain laugh at how cliché it was for a funeral) and resisting the urge to throw them on the ground.

”I’m mad at you.”

_“I know, baby. I’m mad at me too.”_

With a sigh, Ingrid placed the bouquet on top of his headstone. Her legs were shaking and she was trying to keep her balance. Ingrid knew she was in serious trouble when her appetite had decreased, which left her lethargic and unsteady. The blonde had done her best to eat, especially when food was shoved in front of her face, but had found it difficult.

“What kind of asshole walks into a violate situation without the police? How fucking stupid are you, Sylvain?”

“ _Really stupid.”_

“I cannot believe you got _shot_ and you just _died_ and you didn’t even try and _fight!_ ”

Ingrid had taken to pacing in circles around his headstone. It helped keep her upright and more importantly, it kept her from making a foolish decision like punching the slab of stone. The thought made her snort; the pain from the broken knuckles would be better than the anger she was feeling now. Anger had never been her strong suit and she never knew how to handle it. Annoyances happened a lot. True anger? It overwhelmed her.

“You know what the newspaper wrote?”

Sylvain didn’t want to know. He had seen her looking at it yesterday morning but didn’t have a chance to read it before she started to rip it up.

“They said you’re a hero for dying on the job,” Ingrid said with a scoff, her eyes watering as she stopped her pacing. “You’re not a hero, you’re a moron who went into a dangerous situation without any of the correct resources. Byleth is a cop, you moron, you _know_ how dangerous it is.”

Sylvain ran a hand through his hair as he moved to her side. She was correct; his job had been dangerous. He had been a social worker who responded to initial assessments for child abuse cases. Every time he knocked on a door, he knew he was facing a life or death situation. Parents were hostile and vicious with words. They threatened bodily harm a good chunk of the time. The call he had responded to hadn't been the first time a gun had been pulled on him, nor was it the first time the trigger had been pulled with him in the room. Everything had happened so quickly that even the officers on the scene didn't react fast enough.

_“It’s not that simple and I know you know that. We’ve talked about it at length.”_

The redhead knew that she was speaking out of anger. Ingrid understood the complexities of his job and while she chided him for walking into dangerous situations, she never blamed him. She understood it was the nature of the job. It was jarring to see her be this angry. It was the lack of control, that much he knew, but it made him sad. 

Ingrid had gone silent as the tears spilled down her face. Sylvain reached out to hold her hand but his touch went through. One of the worst parts about being dead was that he couldn’t comfort her as she was crying. Was this Sothis’s punishment? The goddess was cruel.

_“I’m sorry, Ing. I really am.”_

The woman shifted on her feet and cradled her face in her hands. She was tired of crying and wanted the tears to stop. Once she thought she was done crying for the day, the tears came back with a vengeance. Her head was hurting from the dehydration.

“I’m not mad at you,” Ingrid eventually spoke. “I’m mad at myself for letting you go to work that day. I should have told you to stay home.”

Sylvain loved his job. It still didn’t stop him from complaining about going into work when he was on call or worked a normal shift. On the night he died, he said the same thing and Ingrid had laughed him off. His gut twisted as he tried to place a hand on her shoulder, knowing it would go right through.

Ingrid jolted, her hand going to where Sylvain’s hand had attempted to be. The presence was lingering and she frowned. Her shoulder felt colder than the rest of her body and she couldn’t explain it. Something had touched her shoulder.

_Ghosts don’t exist, silly_ , she thought.

“Fuck you for not listening to me and fuck you for going into work.”

The redhead stared at the headstone she was fixated on. ( _Here lies a dumbass_ is what it should of read instead of some poetic bullshit his father had thought of). Ingrid was almost shaking with anger but it made sense now. She wasn’t angry with him for the most part. Most of her anger was directed at herself. That hurt worse than the gunshot wound.

_“You didn’t know. None of us did. This isn’t your fault. This will never be your fault, please don’t think that it is.”_ Speaking to Ingrid was utterly useless but it was becoming therapeutic.

Ingrid grabbed the bouquet off the top and placed the flowers on ground. The white roses were out of place and a stark contrast against the grey headstone. Sylvain snorted at the image. He didn’t understand the point of the flowers, they would be dead in a few weeks.

Dead just like him.

“Bastard,” Ingrid muttered to herself as she stood up and dusted the dirt off her dress, her eyes fixated on the headstone. The tears had stopped for the moment. With a heavy sigh, she turned on her heels and made her way towards the car, Sylvain tailing right behind her.

_“I know, babe. I know.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writing anger is h a r d anyways next is bargaining


	3. bargaining

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly i'm just competitive as fuck and when the angst was being posted, i was like "two can play that game motherfucker" and here we are (im coming for you @ sylvgrid discord which btw you should join!!)
> 
> no song recommendation because i listened to sucker by jonas brothers while i was writing this and if that doesn't explain a lot about who i am as a person nothing will

It took two weeks for Ingrid to breakdown in front of someone.

One could have argued that she was already broken and had been since a cop showed up on her doorstep and informed her of the terrible news that her boyfriend had been murdered. She had done okay, barely hanging on by a thread and spent her time putting on a fake smile and saying she would be okay. Sylvain saw right through it and watched as she cried herself to sleep every night. It was only a matter of time before the snapped in front of her friends. 

Ingrid had startled Dimitri when she broke. She had been making her way out the door when his photo appeared on television. Ingrid had turned her head to make sure she wasn’t seeing a ghost, froze, and crumbled down the ground with tears streaming down her face. Dimitri had been in the kitchen, fiddling around with something when he heard the crash and instantly ran to his childhood friend.

_ “That’s a terrible photo of me. I wish they would use something better. It doesn’t show off my rugged good looks!”  _

Sylvain knew Ingrid couldn’t hear her but liked to think she could. He gave her a soft smile as he knelt down next to her and reached out, his hands going right through.

“It should have been me. Why wasn’t it me?”

_ “Because you’re a vet and don’t do stupid shit like me? Come on babe, you know why.”  _ Sylvain pursed his lips as he kept his hand hovering around here. He couldn’t touch her and this would suffice. Sometimes he thought Ingrid could feel his presence - this was one of those situations.

Ingrid was staring at her hand. The air was cold around her. She bit her lip as she stayed in her position on the floor. When had Dimitri knelt down beside her? Her memory had been hazy since that morning.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize the news was still on,” he offered in apology as he grabbed the remote and turned off the television. 

“It’s okay.” 

_ “No it’s not. Stop lying, Ing. It doesn’t look good on you.”  _

Ingrid snuffled and wiped the snot from her nose. Her eyes were red and puffy and if she kept crying her head would start to throb. Sylvain sighed as he looked at his girlfriend, who had taken to the fetal position. She had her legs pulled tightly into her chest and her arms wrapped around them for support. 

“I would give anything for it to be, Dimitri. Anything.” Ingrid paused. “And I keep thinking what if, what if, what if. I could have had him stay at home. I could have said I was sick. I should have gone to Church. If I prayed more, he would still be here.” 

_ “What, you think Sothis gives a shit about me?”  _

“There are so many things I could have done, Dimitri. So many things.” 

“It wouldn’t change the outcome, Ingrid. You know that.” Dimitri scooted closer to his friend. If Sylvain wasn’t dead and a ghost behind Ingrid, he would have made a joke. “The only thing you can do is ride the wave of emotions and know that we’re all here for you.”

Ingrid pressed her forehead against her knees and sobbed. It was easier than vocalizing her thought process which had resorted to a bunch of pleading and what if’s. Out of the four, she had been the most religious - and that was debatable, at best. Hers was a product of being brought up in a religious household and forced to go to church when she was younger. Since she had become an adult, religion wasn’t something she focused on.

“I’ll go back to church if it’ll bring him back. Sothis, do you hear me?”

_ “Ingrid. She can’t hear you.” _

Sylvain watched as Dimitri stared at his friend, unsure of what to do. He could see it in his eyes - he was terrified of saying the wrong thing. Ingrid was a strong woman and here she was, sobbing on his living room floor making no movement to move. He chuckled as he crawled in-between them. What Dimitri didn’t realize, and he did, was that this was what Ingrid needed. She needed to break down her walls in front of someone who wouldn’t judge her, who would say very little, and be supportive. 

_ “Can’t believe you get to help my girl through this. I’m actually jealous!” _

The only sounds that could be heard in the apartment were Ingrid’s violent sobs. They were deafening and alarming but Dimitri held his ground well. He didn’t reach out for her and Sylvain wished that he would. Sylvain had tried, time and time again, to touch her, and only on a few occasions did she seem to notice his feeble attempts.

He could hear Ingrid’s desperate bargaining pleas through her sobs and Sylvain frowned. He moved his position from in-between the two of them back to hovering over Ingrid. He reached out and tried to brush a strand of hair out of her face. It didn’t work but he saw her eyes go wide as she gingerly reached up to touch the strand of hair he had been trying to brush away. 

_ “Why is it you can feel me sometimes but not other times? Oh! Title of your sex tape.” _

Ingrid pushed herself up off the floor and wiped her eyes with her snot-covered sleeve. If it had been another person or another situation, she would have grimaced and been disgusted with herself. With Dimitri, she didn’t care. She had pulled him out of worse. 

“Does it get easier?” Ingrid eventually asked, her voice soft. Her hand was still fixated on that damned strand of hair.

_ “No.” _

“Not really. You just learn how to cope with it better.” Dimitri paused, “Some days are worse than others. Anniversaries will be rough. Your first holiday will make you want to gouge your eyes out.” Dimitri chuckled as he offered Ingrid as he stood up and offered Ingrid a hand. “But you learn to manage your feelings and find that it gets better with time. It helps when you have people you love around you.”

Ingrid accepted his hand and wobbled on her feet. The breakdown had been twenty minutes at the most but she was exhausted and nauseous. She sighed, sniffled and wrapped her arms around herself. 

“Good to know.” The nausea was coming full force. Ingrid didn’t realize how hard she had been crying. She took a deep breath and tried to ignore the bile that was rising in her throat. “Sorry,” she admitted sheepishly as she tried not to gag.

_ “Babe, you don’t look so good. Byleth isn’t here to help Dimitri clean the floor if you vomit and I can’t usher you into the bathroom.” _

Dimitri waved her off and gave her a smile. “Don’t worry about it. You’ve helped me more times than I can recall and honestly? I’m glad it happened. I love you but you’re stubborn and I know you were doing your best to stay put together but it was eating you alive. It’s okay to succumb to your emotions. And it’s okay if it happens again because it will.”

_ “He’s right. Now stop being fucking stubborn.” _

Ingrid was about to respond when the bile hit the back of her throat and her cheeks puffed out. She ran into the bathroom and barely managed to pull the toilet seat up before up-heaving her breakfast (if one could even call two waffles breakfast). She dry-heaved for a minute after expunging her stomach contents, flushed the toilet and rested her head against the toilet lid. It was cold and she was sweating. 

Sylvain sat on the edge of the tub, wishing he could pull her hair back.  _ “You need to actually eat, Ing. You have such a high metabolism that with how little you’ve been eating it’s fucking with your system.”  _ He was preaching to the choir. Just a few days ago, Felix had scolded her for not eating.

Ingrid dry-heaved again but nothing came out. With a shaky breath, she let out a pathetic laugh and the tears came out of the corner of her eyes again. Every time she thought she was done crying, Sothis proved her wrong.

“I would do anything to have you hold back my hair while I throw up like this,” she whispered.

_ “I would too, but I’m right here, babe. I’m not going anywhere.” _


	4. depression

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [all i wanted](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W7nmB20qJv4) by paramore to really punch y'all in the gut
> 
>  **trigger warning.** please read with care. i know the subject material may be sensitive for some.

Ingrid’s brain had become foggy in the last few days.

It left her exhausted and bedridden. It was easier than feeling overwhelmed by every emotion that came her way. She didn’t feel _anything_ and it was welcomed. Ingrid was walking on auto-pilot and barely remembered doing the most basic tasks. She had gotten better about taking showers after a strongly worded text from Felix. Her food intake was almost non-existent but it wasn’t from the lack of trying. It was hard for her to keep food down.

The smell of food made her sick and the texture was wrong. Even her favourite (dinosaur chicken nuggets) caused her to run into the bathroom and vomit the little food in her stomach. It had become the pattern for the past three days. She would sleep until she couldn’t sleep anymore, attempt to eat food, vomit, and fall back asleep. When she couldn’t sleep, she would lie in bed, staring at the ceiling.

Byleth's off-handed comment about her constantly running to the bathroom and sleeping so much had got her head spinning. Lack of eating, general lethargy and absent-mindedness were explained by her whirlwind of emotions, which lead her to shut down. Deep down, Ingrid knew it wasn’t depression – it was something more and that thought alone made her want to close her eyes and ignore reality.

Ingrid held the stick in stick in her hand. She was avoiding looking at the answer, even though it had been well over two minutes.

_“I would tell you what it says if I could, babe.”_

This wasn’t how Sylvain pictured this moment. Outside of the fact that he pictured himself alive, he imagined holding her hand while she waited for the results and teasing her with an endless supply of dad jokes. _It’s practice!_ He would have said with a loud laugh.

He sat down on the bed next to her and hovered his hand above her thigh. It was the closest he could get to touching her and Sylvain would take it. Ingrid froze and her eyes drifted down towards her thigh, forgetting about the dammed stick in her hand.

_“You gotta look, Ing.”_

The blonde sighed as she kept her gaze locked on her thigh and she almost laughed. It was like she could feel his presence and could hear him urging her to look at the result. She tore her eyes away and flipped the stick over, her stomach dropping.

Positive.

Those dammed pink lines were staring right back at her.

“Fuck.”

_“Yeah, that’s how we made a baby!”_

It was a good thing she was numb. She kept staring at the pregnancy stick, unwilling to believe the answer. She had known two days after her first missed period. Despite her levels of stress, she had never missed her period. Ingrid had shoved the thought to the side and chalked it up to the fact that she was grieving her dead boyfriend. The morning sickness was easily to explain, that’s what happened when you didn’t eat.

“Fuck!” she screamed as she threw the stick against the wall.

Ingrid leaned back in the bed and stared at the ceiling. Her body was heavy and her mind was reeling. When did this happen? Probably the night they had gone to Mercedes’s birthday party and gotten blackout drunk on her jungle juice. She was on the pill and had been since she was young. Nine times out of ten, she was diligent about taking it exactly twenty-four hours later. Ten o’clock, every night, on the dot. She had an alarm for it. Sylvain wore condoms at her instance.

They weren’t ready for a child. That was the whole point of birth control and condoms. A strangled laugh escaped her lips.

 _“Yeah, it was definitely the night we drank that jungle juice.”_ Sylvain laughed. He remembered bits and pieces of the night. It was either that night or the condom had broken without their knowledge. _“This isn’t a bad thing, despite what you’re thinking.”_

Ingrid’s mind had shifted back into an empty void. Her right hand went to her stomach, a frown on her face. This was supposed to be a happy time in her life and she couldn’t bring herself to cry. Every molecule of her body was shutting down at the thought of bringing a child without Sylvain, without their father, into this world.

“How the _fuck_ am I supposed to do this without you?” She finally asked. Abortion and adoption weren’t an option. Ingrid thought about it for a second before she decided against it.

_“I told you that I’m haunting you until the day you die.”_

“I can’t do this without you, Sylvain. I can’t!” Her lip quivered. Ingrid was trying to cry but the tears weren’t coming out. It was the first time her tears were bone dry. She took a shaky breath and ignored the nausea building in her stomach. Was the nausea a result of the pregnancy or the grief? The lines had blurred.

_“I’m right here, Ingrid. I know I’m not there physically but I’m right here. And you’re going to make such a great mom.”_

Ingrid ran her hand through her hair and pulled at the hair near her scalp. There was no tugging sensation; she felt nothing. She whimpered before pulling her knees to her chest.

“How am I supposed to do this without you?”

Despite his earlier sentiment, Sylvain wasn’t sure he had an answer.


	5. acceptance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writing kids are hard k
> 
> ty to sunni for naming the kid!
> 
> technically nsfandi because, you know, sylvain is dead.

The more Ingrid learned to cope with Sylvain’s death, the less Sylvain appeared.

He had started to notice it right around her twenty-week mark, when he learned they were having a girl. He remembered the ultrasound and Ingrid discussing baby names with Mercedes and Annette and the next thing he knew he was next to her as she was giving birth. Sylvain was able to see his daughter being welcomed into the world and Ingrid’s proud smile before he disappeared again.

Heather had been a month old when he materialized again. Ingrid had stumbled across the photo she threw across the room after she had learned about his death. She froze, then cried, and eventually smiled as she recalled the memory. Instead of throwing it on the ground again, she moved it into the baby’s room and told a sleeping Heather the story of that day. Tears (or what were supposed to be tears, Sylvain wasn’t sure he could cry) fell down his face as he listened to her story.

After that, he started to notice pattern. Whenever Ingrid was particularly stressed (going back to work after maternity leave, the first time Heather got sick) or when Heather reached big milestones, he would appear. It would be fleeting. Sometimes it would be him attempting to offer his touch, to which Ingrid would stare at the spot he tried to touch and sometimes he would just watch as Heather grew.

Sylvain wasn’t sure how long it had been since he had last seen Ingrid and Heather. He was sitting criss-crossed on top of his gravestone, which meant they were nearby. His heart fluttered as he recognized the small figure on Ingrid’s hip, her tuff of red hair as messy as his was.

_“I missed you guys.”_

Given how old Heather looked, Sylvain pieced together it had been almost nine months since he had seen them last. The smile grew and he tried to ignore the pain in his chest. She was what, almost two now? Had it been that long?

_“She’s getting so big, Ing.”_

Sylvain moved off the gravestone and next to Ingrid, who was bouncing Heather on her hip. Ingrid’s body went rigid as she stared at the headstone. She hadn’t been to visit Sylvain’s grave since she discovered she was pregnant, let alone bringing their daughter here. It had taken Felix remarking on how he had been to the cemetery recently to realize what she needed to do.

“I’m sorry it’s been awhile since I’ve visited,” Ingrid said as she peeled Heather off her and sat her down on the ground. Ingrid sat down next to her daughter, who was looking at the gravestone with amazement and confusion. She stifled a cry. “Yeah baby, that’s daddy.”

The little girl crawled over to the gravestone and reached out her hand and made a grabbing motion. Ingrid’s heart tugged at the sight. Ingrid was proud of herself for not breaking down in front of her daughter. Those moments were reserved for when she was alone. The moment she had locked eyes with Heather, Ingrid had made a vow that she would never cry about Sylvain in front of her. Heather deserved nothing but happy information regarding her father. 

_“Yeah, she’s going to get all the negative info from Felix. Poor girl.”_

Ingrid ran a hand through Heather’s hair and chuckled. “A lot has changed since I was last here. I like to think you’re always watching over to some extent. It’s weird. Sometimes I feel your presence, like you’re trying to comfort me.”

_“That’s because I am and Sothis is a cruel bitch.”_

“She looks just like you and I can only pray to the Goddess that she doesn’t develop your personality. That might kill Felix.” Ingrid laughed and it was music to Sylvain’s ears. He hadn’t realized how much he missed her laugh. “It sucks. It sucks a lot. You should be here with me and we should be raising our daughter together. Dimitri told me you were planning on proposing, too, so I am still mad at you for that. I hope you weren’t doing some grand gesture.”

_“C'mon, Of course I was.”_

Sylvain had just grappled with the idea of proposing to Ingrid before his untimely death. He had known since the moment he asked her to be his girlfriend that she was his endgame, it was just a matter of when and how long (and making sure that Ingrid did really love him and they weren’t disastrous for each other). He had been tossing around the idea of taking her on vacation.

“I’m not seeing anyone, by the way. I know you would just want me to be happy but it doesn’t feel right. You were my endgame and my soulmate.” Ingrid bit her lip and grabbed Heather, who had been trying her hardest to climb on the gravestone. She pouted as Ingrid pulled her into a hug and kept her on her lap. “Right now my focus is on her and that’s a handful. Dorothea told me toddlers were exhausting. I didn’t believe her.”

Sylvain raised his brows. Dorothea and kids? A lot had changed. There were so many questions he wanted to ask her but couldn’t.

“Works good. Not much has changed there. I’m thinking about opening my own practice but that’s in the future. Marianne said she’d join as a vet tech if I wanted to, so that’s promising.” Ingrid brushed a stray strand of hair out of Heather’s face. It was getting windy and the sun was starting to dip below the horizon. They had been there for fifteen minutes and the weather was changing. It was one of the downfalls of autumn in Faerghus.

“Let’s see, what else? Dimitri and Byleth had a beautiful wedding. He got really drunk and talked about how much he loved Byleth. It’s a viral video now and it’s hilarious. Felix and Annette are expecting. He about fainted when he found out. Ashe is moving to Brigid with Petra. Dedue and Mercedes just bought a house.”

_“As much as I want to hear all these stories, I really only care about how you’re doing, Ingrid.”_

Heather wriggled in her seat and Ingrid released her grasp. In the past two months, Heather’s curious nature developed into something that left Ingrid’s heart racing every time heather was out of her line of sight. The toddler was fixated on the gravestone and kept reaching out to grab it. Ingrid bit down on her lip harder than before, hard enough to draw blood, to prevent her from crying.

_“Don’t cry, babe.”_

“I promise these are happy tears,” Ingrid said. “It’s like she knows. I plan on bringing her around here more often, especially when she’s older. It just took me awhile to gather up the courage to come see you.” She twiddled with her thumbs and looked to the side so she could look away while having a watchful eye on her daughter.

“I’m okay, Sylvain. I’m doing okay. Dimitri was right. The first holiday was the worst and it didn’t help that I was pregnant and hormonal but I’m learning to adapt. I didn’t have a mental breakdown on the anniversary of your death. Mercedes and Annette organized it as a celebration of your life and we sat around a campfire and shared stories about you.”

Sylvain had a fleeting image of that night. It was another night he had filtered in and out of his ghost state.

“Some days are harder than others. I wish that you could be here every day and I always think about how we should be doing this together but I’m okay, if that’s even the right word, with it. Heather was a blessing. I was looking for a reason to stay and she gave me that.”

Heather clapped her hands together to get Ingrid’s attention. She pointed to the headstone and the corner of Ingrid’s lips turned up. Her cheeks were still wet with tears.

“Above all else, I know that no matter what, you’re always watching over us. You might not be here physically and as much as I miss your touch, I’ve learned to adapt. I know that you’re always going to be with me and in my heart and that will never change.”

Ingrid stood up and stretched out before picking up Heather. It was getting darker and colder by the minute. The wind nipped at her cheeks as readjusted Heather’s coat. Sylvain moved back towards the gravestone and leaned against it. If he was alive, his cheeks would have been sore from smiling at the image of Ingrid making sure Heather was bundled up for the cold weather.

“I promise it won’t be so long next time until we come by.” Ingrid shifted on her feet. “Wave bye bye to daddy, Heather.” Ingrid waved towards the gray slab, knowing her daughter would follow her lead.

The toddler made a face (one that looked just like Sylvain’s pouting face, which made him snort with laughter) and looked down at the gravestone, her small hand fraction waving.

“Ba-bye dada!”

He was crying. Sylvain was feeling lighter on his feet and knew that he was starting to disappear again.

“I love you. I miss you.”

_“I love you. I love you both so much. I miss you too. I’m always going to be here, Ingrid. Whenever you need me.”_

It was a promise he kept until Ingrid’s dying day and he could hold her in his arms once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading, i promise the next one will be happ(ier) <33


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